Three Animagi and a Werewolf

Chapter 37: The End of Innocence

Recalling the Past

Iris Snape sat at the breakfast table as usual, her head bent over a plate of scrambled egg on toast, her eyes carefully averted from the face of the man who sat at the opposite end of the table, eating his beans with a bad-tempered frown and turning the pages of the Daily Prophet with impatience. Severus - also as usual - had breakfasted early and retreated to his laboratory. Silence reigned for a long time while Iris went on picking at her food, and Augustus went on scowling at the newspaper. Then, suddenly, he broke it.

"What was the name of that girl Severus used to bring home?"

Iris was so startled to hear him speak that she jumped visibly and dropped her fork.

"What's the matter with you?" her husband snapped, glaring at her. "Can't I ask a simple question without you acting like a rabbit about to have its neck wrung?"

"I'm sorry," she replied quietly. "I just ... what was it you wanted to know?"

"That girl's name," he repeated angrily.

"Y-you mean ... Josephine?"

"Her surname, woman! What would I want with her first name?"

"Coronis," said his wife, growing anxious now. "Why?"

She had not really expected an answer. Her husband's habit, having procured the information from her that he wanted, was normally to snap at her that it was none of her business. However, this time he referred once more to the newspaper, then flung it across the table at her.

"There. See for yourself."

Iris picked up the Prophet obediently and found herself looking at a moving black-and-white photograph of a tall, thin wizard with an unusually pointed chin apparently arguing with a man she was sure she had seen before. She read the text, then tried to steal a surreptitious glance at her husband, but he was studying her too closely.

"Well?" he demanded. "What do you say to that?"

"It could be Josephine's father, I suppose."

"Of course it is! How common do you think that surname is in this country?"

She looked back down at the newspaper. The article that had caught her husband's attention described how the man in the picture, apparently Josephine's father, had fallen out with wizards from the Department for the Preservation of Purity and Security at the Ministry of Magic on the previous day after they had called for the resignation of several higher ranking officials throughout the departments on the grounds that they were of muggle descent. Apparently, so the article continued, Mr. Coronis had had a close friend to whom this resignation 'request' had applied - a friend who had since suffered an 'unfortunate accident'.

"Did his friend meet with an accident?" Iris asked, not really doubting the answer.

"No," said Augustus coldly. "He met with Rosier and Dolohov. Came in useful at our little New Year's celebration. Until some auror thought to start a fire, that is. That's the thing about Inferi - can't abide fire."

"No ..." Iris gasped. "He ... they ... turned this man into an Inferius?"

"Yes," her husband acknowledged matter-of-factly. "And young Josephine's father decided to go to the Ministry yesterday and make a fuss about it."

Feeling suddenly decidedly sick, Iris pushed her plate and the newspaper from her and left her chair hurriedly.

"Iris!" her husband's voice arrested her.

She stopped in the doorway, turning back to look at him reluctantly.

"The paper says something else," he said sharply. "That this man, Coronis, has a child - just the one child, mind you. And that his child is a filthy squib."

Iris flinched visibly. Augustus's cold fury sparkled in his eyes.

"How long have you known?"

"I - I ... not long. That is ... I guessed ... but ... I ..."

"I don't want our son seeing this man's daughter any more, is that clear?"

"H-he's not seeing her," she stammered, turning back towards the door. "He hasn't seen her for ages."

She opened the door and was halfway through it when he called after her,

"And I won't have you seeing her, or communicating with her any more either, is that understood?"

Iris took a deep breath and walked on as though she hadn't heard him.

* * *

Malcolm was sitting over a late breakfast of coffee and dry toast, reading the same newspaper. Like most of the Order, he had had a long night followed by a sorrowful, gruelling New Year's Day. He, John, Gordon and Bridget had been called away from their quiet evening at Gryffindor Hall by a message from Dumbledore, informing them of Death Eater activities and calling for their help. Malcolm and Bridget had stayed longest afterwards to clear up the site of the catastrophe and keep the muggle witnesses in a contained area where they could not run off and blurt the real facts of the disaster out to others, while John and Gordon had returned to the Hall to reassure Faith that all was now well, and get some rest. Their own rest had had to wait.

Malcolm turned another page and rubbed his eyes. Bridget was still fast asleep in bed, but even though he still felt immensely tired, Malcolm had not been able to get more than a few hours' sleep.

The doorbell rang, and he went to answer it.

"Who is it?" he asked, his wand ready in his hand, just in case.

"Remus," came the reply, surprising him.

Malcolm looked through the spyhole. Sure enough, there was his nephew - at least, it looked like his nephew. But one could never be too careful these days, so he said,

"Can I tempt you with a chocolate frog?"

"No, thank you," Remus replied, as they had agreed a while ago. "I prefer food that's stopped wriggling."

Returning his wand to the pocket of his dressing gown, Malcolm opened the door.

"Good morning, Remus," he said, allowing Remus to pass by him into the hall, then closing and locking the door again.

"Good morning," Remus replied, looking as tired as Malcolm was feeling, and not sounding very cheerful.

His uncle looked him up and down, then said,

"You'd best come through to the kitchen, there's still some coffee. You look like you could do with it."

Remus followed him without a word, sat down and took a sip out of the mug that Malcolm passed him, appearing lost in thought. Malcolm folded the newspaper and put it aside, sat down, had some of his own coffee, and remarked in an artificially light tone,

"What's the matter, Remus? I'd say you look like Sirius just ate your last chocolate frog, if I didn't know you're not too keen on them. Perhaps I should say you look like someone made you eat a chocolate frog."

Suddenly deciding that to come straight to the point was probably the best way if he really wanted this to become a serious conversation any time soon rather than beating about the bush endlessly, Remus said quickly,

"Uncle Malcolm, do you know a man called Greyback?"

Malcolm gave such a violent start that his mug of coffee shook in his hand and he had to set it down in a hurry.

"What?!" he ejaculated sharply.

"Greyback," Remus repeated steadily. "Fenrir Greyback."

"Where did you hear that name?"

"I had hoped you'd let me ask the questions, once we'd established you know who he is. I gather you've heard the name before?"

"Oh, I've heard it before, all right," Malcolm said grimly. "I don't think many people who worked for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures or the Department of Magical Law Enforcement twenty years ago will have forgotten that name. He caused a lot of bother at that time."

"Then will you tell me about him?" his nephew requested.

Malcolm shot him a curious look before saying cautiously,

"You've picked a funny time to start raking up the past."

"I didn't exactly pick it. It was more forced on me, actually. I know today isn't ... ideal. But I've been putting this off, and I can't do that any longer. I've got to hear what you have to say about him."

"Before I tell you, I would like to know how much you already know, or think you know."

Remus shook his head. "I'd prefer to hear the true story from you before I tell you what he s... what I've heard," he corrected himself, but too late.

"What he says? Remus, you're not telling me you've spoken to him?"

"I'm not telling you anything yet. Please, Uncle Malcolm. I promise I will tell you afterwards."

"You want my story first? Oh, come on, Remus - don't you trust me? Do you really think if Greyback told you the truth, I'd try and sell you a pack of lies to counter it?"

"No, I don't believe you'd lie to me," said Remus. "But I'd like your account to be as objective as possible."

"Objective?" Malcolm laughed wryly. "You can hardly expect that of me. I'll tell you frankly, you'd be hard put to find anyone in this world I hate more than Fenrir Greyback."

"Because of ... what he is?"

"Of course not," Malcolm snapped. "Hell, Remus, you should know me better than that. Look," he said more calmly, "I'll tell you what you want to know. You'll soon understand that Greyback deserves no sympathy from anyone."

Malcolm thought for a moment, then he leaned back in his chair and began speaking,

"It all started some time before you were born. Farmers out in the moorland regions reported an unusual amount of animals being slaughtered - ponies, sheep, even cattle. It seemed just a case of some wild animal, hardly a matter for the Ministry of Magic to become involved in. But then the attacks came closer to people's homes. Chickens were found dead, whole pig sties were killed in one night. Next it was dogs, cats ... They were just left there, dead, apparently killed for sport. One night a muggle farmer on Exmoor saw the creature that did it. He fired a load of buckshot at it, actually. The Ministry got wind of his claim that a strange monster somewhat like an enormous wolf was responsible for the attacks. They sent someone from the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee to question him further and offer an explanation he could believe. It was clear from the way he described the creature that it was a werewolf.

The difficulty, of course, lay in finding out where he had come from, who he was. When they finally managed to identify him, they decided to send someone from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to call on him and advise him to find a way to restrain himself when the full moon came around. Your dad, being one of the few people who weren't entirely against Greyback yet, but still believed he just couldn't help what he was doing, volunteered to go and see him. He advised Greyback to lock himself up at full moons - he even offered to go round and help him. Greyback just spat in his face.

When the next full moon was drawing near, the Department sent a whole team round to Greyback's place, only to find his house empty. As it turns out, he wasn't as far away as they thought. One member of that team came home the night before the full moon to find his dog had vanished out of his house - along with the puppies she'd just had. The dogs were found a couple of days later. I don't think it's necessary for me to describe their condition to you."

Remus swallowed hard. "No, I - I can imagine ... but was he really to blame? I mean, he couldn't really help it, could he?"

"Perhaps he couldn't help attacking the animals on the moors. I don't know. But his attitude when your dad offered to help him ... the killing of those puppies, that he must have abducted from the man's house on purpose ahead of time ... Those he was responsible for. And at that point, they called on the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to help. The Ministry, of course, was more prejudiced than your dad was. They insisted on auror support, nothing less would do. And so I was with your dad when Greyback was apprehended. At the hearing, someone suggested locking him up for the rest of his life. Your dad reasoned with the judge afterwards that, after all, Greyback had never threatened a human being, that he might still be shown a measure of leniency. Not that Greyback ever thanked him for it, but he owed it to your dad that he only got three months in Azkaban. But when he came out ... Well, that's when we made our first mistake. We should have kept a closer watch on him. We made the mistake of thinking he'd have learned his lesson by now. He hadn't. And at the next full moon, he managed to abduct the judge's daughter. She died in hospital a couple of days later."

"How old was she?" Remus asked shakily.

"Six or seven, I think. The Ministry was in an uproar, of course. And your dad blamed himself. After all, he had helped make sure Greyback wouldn't spend too long in prison. He worked himself raw trying to find the man, but Greyback was good at hiding. And at every full moon, he attacked another of the people involved in his conviction, or preferably their children. We caught him in the end though. Set a trap for him - it was your dad's idea. He was sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban this time. I was at the trial, along with another couple of aurors, for security reasons. Greyback made a lot of threats. A lot of people became afraid, withdrew their statements ... But not John. Your dad's testimony contributed greatly to that life sentence. Greyback went mad. He actually broke his chains and tried to attack your dad physically in front of the whole Wizengamot. It took four of us to hold him back. And then he made another threat. He promised that he would get revenge on your dad, and make him live to regret having been instrumental in his capture and conviction. We didn't take his threats very seriously. After all, he was going to spend the rest of his life in an escape-proof prison.

That was our second mistake - or mine, at least. What I blame myself for most, is that I never bothered to keep an eye on him after that. For three years, everything was peaceful. And then came that night ..."

Malcolm closed his eyes, remembering. "Greyback got his revenge, all right, when he bit you. He almost bit me, too, but your dad had the sense to set fire to his fur ..."

There was a silence, then Remus said,

"So it wasn't just an accident that I was bitten. It was revenge."

"Yes. Greyback wanted revenge on your dad, but I think you'll agree with me, Remus, that there is nothing your dad could have done differently. It's not his fault ..."

"Is it true that he insulted Greyback?" Remus asked.

"Is that what Greyback says?"

Remus nodded.

Malcolm said slowly, "Well, yes, you could say that's true. Your dad did call him ... a few names I'd never heard him use before, and I've never heard him use since. But Greyback deserved it. And whatever your dad may have meant, Remus, he meant in reference to Greyback as a person, not in reference to what he is. You understand that, don't you?"

"Yes."

Malcolm studied his nephew for a while, then he asked,

"So, does that settle it? Or are there any more questions you'd like me to answer for you?"

"Just ... one."

"What's that?"

"Why did Dad never tell me? If he'd explained all of this to me before, my meeting with Greyback wouldn't have been ... the way it was. If I'd known beforehand ..."

"You should blame me for that, not your dad," said Malcolm. He sat forward and said deliberately, "Remus, do you know how much your dad loves you?"

Taken aback a little by this question, Remus just blinked and shrugged. Malcolm went on,

"That night was the worst of his life, Remus. He's never forgotten it. It changed him. And he never stopped blaming himself for it, for having taken you out in the first place when there was a full moon out - even though no werewolf had been sighted in those parts for years - for not having been able to prevent what happened to you. If he had known that it was Greyback who bit you, and that he did it for revenge ..."

"What do you mean, 'if he had known'? Are you saying ..."

"I'm saying I never told him. When I found out that Greyback had come forward and admitted to having bitten you, I made damn sure your dad never found out. The whole thing was bad enough for him as it was."

"So you just ... lied to him."

"No. I just didn't tell him the truth," Malcolm amended with a faint smile, which faded again quickly as he said, "So if you want to blame someone for not having told you before, you'll have to blame me ..."

Their eyes locked for a time. Remus tried to feel some kind of anger or resentment towards the man sitting opposite him, but found it was impossible. What had his uncle done, after all, besides trying to protect his best friend? He said slowly,

"I'm sure you did what you thought was right."

Malcolm gave a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Remus."

"But I'm afraid Dad may find out anyway."

"You mean you want to tell him? I couldn't stop you, of course. You're the one whom this affects most. But consider what it would do to him." He shook his head. "I don't think it would be a good idea. Your mother and I agreed a long time ago that it's better for him not to know."

"Mum knows?" Remus exclaimed, startled.

Malcolm nodded guiltily. "I had to tell someone, I couldn't keep it entirely to myself all these years. But we both agreed it would be better if your dad never found out. However, if you feel we were wrong ... if you want him to know ... I'll help you tell him."

Remus sat in thoughtful silence for a moment, then repeated,

"He might find out anyway. Greyback is becoming active again." He told his uncle about Jeremy Crowe, and Malcolm's expression grew sombre.

"Poor little devil," he murmured. "You're right, we've got to help him if we can. Still, we may be able to do that without ... ah, good morning, darling."

Remus turned his head. Bridget had just appeared in the doorway, wrapped in a blue dressing gown and looking surprised to see him in her kitchen. She came across and kissed Malcolm, then smiled tiredly at Remus.

"Good morning, Remus. This is a surpr..."

But before she got any further, a second interruption occurred. With a tap-tap-tap on the window, a large tawny owl announced its arrival. Bridget was nearest to the window and opened it to let the bird in and relieve it of the note it carried. She turned pale as she read it.

"What is it?" Remus asked.

Bridget looked up. "It's from Dumbledore. It's ... Pippa ..."

Malcolm took the note from her hand and read it himself. "Disappeared?" he said hollowly. "Oh my God ..."

* * *

The Woes of Josephine

Remus apparated in the Pettigrews' back garden with a crack. It was not the polite thing to do, but the quickest way of reaching Peter without materialising in plain view on the front doorstep. He was not the only one to choose this method of approach. Before he had so much as thought about heading for the back door, two more cracks close by announced the arrival of Lily and James.

"Hello, Remus," James said soberly. "I see you've heard."

"Yes. I was at Uncle Malcolm's when the owl arrived from Hogwarts."

"Oh," Lily exclaimed. "Did you talk about ..."

"Not now, Lily, please," Remus cut her short. "We've got to tell Peter before he finds out by owl as well."

"He won't," James assured him. "Dumbledore specifically asked us to tell him. He called by floo."

"Good. Well, shall we ..."

But before they could proceed, a fourth crack interrupted and Sirius appeared, a grim look on his face. He seemed no more surprised to see them there than they were to see him appear in their midst.

"Just got Dumbledore's letter," he said brusquely. "Rotten business ..."

"Let's get it over with," said James.

He led the way to the back door of the Pettigrews' house, Remus and Lily right behind him, Sirius hanging back a little. James knocked. The voices that had been talking inside fell silent, and after a pause they heard footsteps and then a woman's muffled voice.

"Yes? Who's there?"

James announced them all. The curtain behind the small, square window set in the back door was pushed aside a fraction and Anthea Pettigrew's face appeared briefly. Then she let the curtain fall back into place and they heard bolts being drawn back. The door opened.

"Good morning," said Peter's mother, looking at them all in some surprise.

"Good ... err ... morning, Mrs. Pettigrew," James replied, and the others added their murmured greetings. "May we come in?"

Breakfast was laid out neatly on the Pettigrews' kitchen table. Peter's father looked about to set off for work. He was just placing his dirty plate on the draining board beside the sink, holding the Daily Prophet in one hand, apparently reading something as he crossed the room, though he looked up curiously when they entered. Peter himself was sitting in front of a half empty plate of eggs and bacon. One look at their faces told him something was very, very wrong.

"James?" he said quietly, focusing on James as the group's usual spokesman. "What's up?"

James exchanged glances with the others. Lily swept around the table and sat down beside Peter, placing one hand on his arm before she, too, looked up at James expectantly. He swallowed, then explained as gently as he could about Pippa, how she had helped in the fight involving giants, how she had assisted in clearing up after, how Hagrid had waited for her in vain at their arranged meeting place ... and that she had still not turned up.

There was a silence after he had said all this. Mrs. Pettigrew groped for the back rest of the chair nearest her. Remus sprang forward and pulled it out for her, and she sat. Her husband, meanwhile, seemed to have forgotten that he was still holding the newspaper in his hand. He shook his head vehemently.

"This doesn't make sense," he said, bewildered. "Why wouldn't Pippa go back to Hogwarts once she had helped sort the muggles out? If she promised to meet someone in Hogsmeade ... she's never broken a promise in her life. It's not like her."

While they were all still trying to find the best way to explain, Peter looked up at James again. He said quietly,

"She's ... gone, hasn't she?"

"No," Lily said quickly. "No, no, she hasn't. She's just ... missing."

"That's right," Sirius agreed with her hurriedly. "It's not been all that long. Everyone'll be looking for her, and ..."

"But where can she be?" Mrs. Pettigrew asked. "Where will they start looking? She didn't disappear of her own free will, she can't have done - she wouldn't, not without telling someone."

"What are you talking about?" her husband demanded, incredulous. "Not of her own free will? Anthea, you don't think ... but who'd want to ... kidnap her?"

"The Death Eaters," Peter said shakily. "I-it's them, isn't it? They got her. Lily? Sirius? James?" He looked at them all in turn, but they said nothing. "Remus?" he finished.

Remus shifted awkwardly before meeting Peter's eye. He hesitated, then said, "Sirius is right, Peter. We'll all be looking for her."

A week came and went. The Order did indeed search tirelessly for any sign of Pippa Pettigrew, but without success. There was no doubt that she had been taken by the Death Eaters, but where? Malcolm was convinced that they must have taken her to Slytherin's Rock, and suggested another rescue mission to the fortress, for which he himself volunteered. But to his surprise and dismay, Dumbledore proved to him that this plan was impossible to carry out. Not one of the people who had been to Slytherin's Rock before could remember how to get there, and the place had even vanished from Gordon's old map.

Dumbledore had guessed that this was due to new protective spells and enchantments Lord Voldemort had placed on his favourite hiding place. Nevertheless, they had continued to try and find it, exploring the coasts, questioning people - but to no avail. As day followed day without progress, the Order's hopes waned.

Peter spent a lot of time at the Potters'. Lily was particularly kind to him, and most days Remus, Sirius, his current girlfriend, Josie and the Longbottoms would be there too, all trying to express a hope they no longer felt themselves, trying to cheer him up.

At the moment, though, he was on his own, sitting at his desk in the antechamber to Mr. Mulciber's office at the Ministry of Magic, staring unseeingly out of the 'window' behind his desk, oblivious to the scene of sunlight sparkling on pure white snow that Magical Maintenance was providing this week. All he could see was his sister's face, and all he could think of was that he might never see her again. And then what? What was to become of him if he lost Pippa, the sister who had always been on his side, no matter what? The only one who had always had faith in him, who had always loved him unconditionally, more even than their mother had.

He gulped heavily. Without Pippa, who would protect him? His friends had themselves to think about, their own families. What about him? He gulped again. A world without Pippa seemed a horrible, terrifying prospect to face.

Just when he had reached that conclusion, the inner door opened and Mulciber's head looked out at him. Peter jumped. There was no way he could pretend to have been working when his back was turned to his desk.

"M-Mr. Mulciber," he stammered. "Sir, I - I ..."

But to his surprise, Mulciber smiled. It was not a particularly friendly or encouraging smile, but it was, undeniably, a smile. The man stepped out of his office and faced Peter across his desk.

"Pettigrew, I can readily appreciate your distraction at what must, no doubt, be a difficult time for you ..."

"I - err ..."

The man swept on, "I do not, I'm afraid, have the pleasure of knowing your sister personally. But I think, perhaps, I can offer you something to take your mind off these worries for a while. If you will please fetch your cloak - we have a little excursion to make."

With that, he returned to his own office to fetch his cloak.

* * *

"Jo, what's the matter?" Sirius asked.

They had been for a ride on his motorbike again, travelling along the coast, keeping their eyes open as they went for any sign of unusual activity that might point to a hideout of Death Eaters. Now the bike rested by a frozen lake on which Sirius was skating, having magically added blades to his shoes to turn them into skates, waiting for Josie to join him on the ice. But she, lost in thought, was standing by the side of the lake with her own, muggle ice skates in her hand. His words startled her out of a day dream.

"What? Oh ... I'm sorry, Sirius. I suppose I'm just not feeling the ticket."

Sirius skated to the edge of the lake and stopped close by her.

"You're not feeling ill again?" he asked, concerned.

"No, I'm not ill. I ... don't know how to start explaining."

"You don't usually have trouble finding words."

"No, but ... this situation ... isn't exactly usual."

Sirius studied her face intently, the multi-coloured eyes under the heavily made-up eyelids ... without meaning to, he found himself reaching for her hand and squeezing it. She grinned suddenly.

"It's a good job I know you're in love with Kitty at the moment, or I might think you were making advances."

"Kitty?" He frowned. "Which one was Kitty?"

"The one you dragged along to James and Lily's at New Year's Eve."

"Oh, that one. Skinny girl, absolutely no brains."

"People have said that about me."

"That's not very nice of them. It's not true, either. You're not daft, and you're not that skinny, either. In fact, now I come to think of it, you've put on weight."

"Yes," Josie said darkly.

"Anyway, I dumped Kitty, so never mind her. Actually, I'm pretty much a free agent today, no one waiting for me. Pity you insisted we should be just friends," he teased.

Josie withdrew her hand from his at this point and walked a few paces. Suddenly she came back quickly and threw her arms around his neck so vehemently that he almost lost his balance. Once he had found it again, he began to realise what a bizarre situation he was in, standing on a frozen lake, supporting a girl whose ice skates were thumping against his back while she clung tightly to him, sobbing into his shoulder.

"Err - Jo ..." he croaked confusedly, half strangled by her arms. He tried patting her back. "Jo, what on earth ...?"

"I need a friend right now, Sirius," she said between sobs. "I need someone I can tell everything to, someone who can be there for me, letters just aren't enough any more."

Ignoring the part about the letters, which made no sense to him at all, Sirius said, "Well, I'm not going anywhere. So if I'll do ..."

She let go of him and stood back, unsteady on the slippery ice. He took hold of her elbow to steady her.

"Can I tell you - anything?" she asked.

"Of course."

"You won't judge me or - or think badly of me?"

"No!" he protested.

"All right then," she said. "Let's go back to your place and ... I'll tell you what's the matter with me."

* * *

When Josie had told him what was on her mind, Sirius was nothing short of stunned. It must have shown in his face, for she pulled away from him and said she had known this was a mistake, that she should never have confided in him. But he found that what he had promised by the frozen lake was true, and he told her so. He did not think badly of her. For some reason, he found he simply couldn't. He couldn't tell why. He also had no idea why he was now sitting with his arm around the girl on his sofa, stroking her strawberry-blonde hair and promising he'd think of something, that he'd help her and everything would be all right. Or why it pained him so to think that it would almost certainly not be all right.

* * *

Weakness

As soon as they rounded a corner and came out in a small, isolated cove, Peter's misgivings that had been growing on him since he had first set out from the Ministry of Magic with Mr. Mulciber were justified. A tall figure in a black hooded cloak, wearing a mask that covered all but his eyes and mouth, was waiting for them there.

"Mulciber," a man's voice greeted the official from the Ministry. "You are five minutes late."

"I had to wait for the right moment, the Dark Lord wished me to be discreet and bring him along without a fuss."

In his heart, Peter would later come to realise that this was just the moment when he ought to have started 'making a fuss'. Had he been James, Sirius or Remus, he would have drawn his wand on the spot and attempted to make good his escape, even knowing that fighting these two men could hardly yield a positive outcome, that it might even mean death. But he was not his friends. He was Peter Pettigrew, alone on a beach with two men he now had no doubt were Death Eaters, deeply shaken by the disappearance of his sister and afraid of what lay in store for him, rooted to the spot by panic.

The two men exchanged a few more words, then the masked man stepped closer to Peter. His cold eyes looked down on Peter for a moment, then he raised one hand and removes his mask, revealing a face that was at once totally strange to him and eerily familiar.

"You are Peter Pettigrew?" he questioned.

Peter nodded, finding his voice had deserted him.

"I am Vindictus Lothian," said James's father. Then, to Peter's fright, he leaned in closer and whispered, "The Dark Lord's fortress lies on Slytherin's Rock."

The man straightened up again and Peter stared at him in bewilderment.

"Focus on what you have been told," said Mulciber beside him.

It was hard to focus on anything when your knees kept knocking against each other and two men you realised would as soon murder you as look at you were keeping a close watch on you. But they did nothing for a full minute and a half, while Peter forced himself to repeat what Lothian had said to him over and over in his head.

And then he saw it. Out of the mists beyond the cold, dark waters an island seemed to materialise, and on it loomed the silhouette of a vast, forbidding fortress. Peter gulped and blinked, but the vision did not disappear. Mulciber and Lothian exchanged glances, then the latter drew his wand, and Peter shrank back. But the man merely pointed his wand behind him and a boat that had apparently been invisible before appeared at the water's edge.

"Come with me, Pettigrew," the tall man said.

Peter looked anxiously across at the island, then at the boat, then at Lothian.

"I ... I ... no ..." he stammered.

The two men laughed harshly, and Lothian pointed his wand at Peter.

"Get in the boat, Pettigrew," he said less mildly than before.

Peter obeyed. He felt despair seeping through his veins as he sat in the boat with the man who was James's father, the black fortress slipping ever nearer. Once he thought of asking a question, demanding to know why he was being taken there, but by now Lothian's expression had become so forbidding that the words died on the way to his lips, and Peter merely shivered and began to wish he had transformed into a rat on the beach and tried to scuttle away.

The boat pulled ashore and Peter got out, his legs now feeling so much like jelly that he marvelled at the fact that they still supported him. Lothian led him up to the great doors and knocked. They were let in by none other than Paula Lestrange. With an amused smile and a falsely honeyed voice she said,

"Why, Peter, my little brother. Welcome to Slytherin's Rock. Do come in ..."

He reluctantly made to step inside, past her, but she held out her hand to him. For a wild moment, he thought she actually wished to shake hands with him. But then she said,

"Your wand, Peter. You won't be needing it in here. At least - not for a while."

The thought of attempting to escape now flashed across his mind for a second. She had asked him to draw his wand, what if he did so quickly and hexed her? But the poke of a hard, narrow point at his back told him that Lothian was prepared for that eventuality. He took his wand out of the inside pocket of his winter cloak and handed it to his sister. She took it, then stood aside to let him pass.

The sound of the door closing behind him seemed to Peter like the clanging of the gates of hell. Not that he had held much hope of escape before, but now he had next to none. He looked around him, and as he did so, he recalled Pippa's description of this place, from the time when she and other members of the Order had come here to rescue Malcolm. But even the thought of that rescue did not yield hope, for he already knew the Order could no longer find the island.

For a minute or two, Paula and Lothian watched him as he took in his surroundings. Then she said,

"When you have finished admiring the décor, Vindictus here will show you to your ... accomodation."

Peter's frightened, watery blue eyes snapped to the hard, heavy-lidded eyes of his sister.

"W-why am I here?" he asked with a stammer. "What - what do you want?"

His sister pursed up her lips. "We want what I hardly think you will feel willing to give as yet. But I will tell you, just so you can start considering your options. We want your cooperation, Peter. We want your help. We want you to supply us with information."

"I-information?" he struggled in vain to make his voice sound puzzled and innocent. "About what?"

"About the Order of the Phoenix, of course."

Peter gasped, and she laughed.

"Yes, we know all about Dumbledore's band of 'heroes'. Or rather: We do not know all about them. But we intend to. With your help."

Staring at her, both shocked and confused, Peter shook his head.

"No? I thought you'd say that. In fact, you could even say I hoped you would," Paula said, again using that honeyed voice. "Vindictus," she added, "I think my brother is ready to be taken to his accomodation now."

When Peter hesitated, Lothian's hand closed around his arm, and he was briskly led down a flight of steps that led off the entrance hall. He remembered Pippa mentioning these steps too, and recalled where they led with a renewed shock.

"No. No, wait!" he cried.

Lothian paused. "You've changed your mind already?" he asked mildly.

Peter gazed up at him, swallowed, and shook his head. "N-no."

"Then, please ... proceed," said Lothian, pointing ahead, down the stairs.

They reached the bottom all too quickly, a gloomy passageway with only very little light, which entered through a small window protected by bars that looked much shinier and newer than the cell doors nearby. Lothian guided Peter a little way down the passage to their right, to a small stone chamber with a barred door, most of which was shrouded in darkness. As the Death Eater unlocked the door with a wave of his wand and Peter flinched, he thought he could hear a faint gasp coming from within the cell.

"In you go," said Lothian, applying a little pressure to Peter's back with the tip of his wand again.

If the closing of the front door had filled Peter with a sense of hopelessness, it was nothing to what he felt when the cell door closed behind him. He watched Lothian re-lock it and stride away, heard him go back upstairs. He knew it was pointless before he'd tried, but he closed his hands around two of the bars in the cell door and shook them. And then he most definitely heard something, a kind of muffled cry coming from a corner of the cell. Peter turned and stared into the darkness. His eyes took a moment to adjust, then he was able to make out something in the shadows, something that seemed shapeless and ... trembling? He moved across the short distance that separated him from the shape timidly, and crouched down, reaching out a hand to touch what he could now tell was the shoulder of a figure lying with its back to him.

Immediately, the figure on the ground emitted a shriek of terror, pushed his hand away, rolled over and scurried backwards. Peter's eyes widened, as did those of the person who stared back at him out of eyes very much like his own.

"P-Peter?" she stammered, though her voice was so quiet and weak that he could hardly hear it, and wondered if it was really her speaking, it sounded so unlike her. "I-is it really you?"

Peter tried to answer, to tell her that indeed, it really was him, but he found his voice uncooperative. He continued to stare at Pippa, and with every second that he did so his fear grew. From what he could tell in the little light they had, her hair was grubby and tangled. Her face looked an eerie greenish grey, there were cuts on her cheeks and a large bruise just under her right eye. Her robes were cut and torn in several places, and there were bandages on the shaking hands that she now stretched out towards him. Peter took her hands gingerly and gave in to the faint pressure that pulled him towards her. Holding her against him, it felt like she was made of nothing but flesh and bone. And to his horror, she began to cry bitterly, half screaming as she did so, clinging to him with all the strength she had left, which did not seem to be much.

"Thank God," she whispered when, at last, she seemed able to form words again. "Thank God you're here. I couldn't ... I couldn't have taken ... any more ..."

"Pippa," he answered chokily. "Pippa, I didn't exactly come here. I - I was brought here. By Mr. Mulciber and Ja... Lothian," he finished, reminding himself just in time not to mention James's association with the man.

For a moment, Pippa went very still. Even her trembling seemed to stop, as did her breathing. Alarmed, Peter gave her a tiny shake.

"Y-you ... they got you, too?" Pippa said weakly.

"Yes."

Pippa gave a cry. She released Peter, however, and turned away from him before bursting into a renewed fit of sobs, very different from the first. As he sat on the cold and dirty floor, watching her, hearing her howl and weep with unmistakable, utter hopelessness and misery, Peter felt a mix of emotions, some of which he tried vainly to suppress. He told himself that this was his sister, the sister he loved, and who had loved him since childhood, who had been his closest friend and his protector ... and that was where he stumbled. He looked at her now, and he felt every last shred of courage drain from him. If these people could weaken Pippa like this, Pippa who had always been so brave and strong ... what could they do to him? The sight of her filled him with despair, and with an urge to scream at her to pull herself together, to tell her that he needed her to help him, to tell him what to do ... an urge that remained unspoken, because he felt guilty and ungrateful for even thinking it. But she couldn't let him down now, not when he needed her most ... could she?

"Pippa ... w-what did they ... do to you?" he asked haltingly, secretly wishing that he would never know the answer.

Unknowingly, his sister granted that wish.

"Too much," she said, her sobs dying down slowly. "More than I thought they could ... would ... More than I could take."

Peter frowned, thinking. Then he said,

"You ... told them about the Order, didn't you? The Order of the Phoenix. Polly knew about it."

Pippa's head jerked round, her wide eyes stared at him. "I told them the name," she said in a voice that was a little firmer than before, though strangely high in tone. "Just the name. That's all. I wouldn't tell them more." Her eyes closed suddenly, and she began to shake her head feverishly, muttering under her breath. "No more, no more. I won't say any more. No. No. Noooo!"

"Pippa!"

He grabbed her by the arms and shook her. Pippa's eyes opened wide once more and stared at him wildly for a moment. Then she relaxed under his grip and he let her go. Pippa lowered her head and shivered.

"It's cold," she said tonelessly.

Peter remembered his cloak and removed it quickly, wrapping it around her shoulders instead. At one time, he realised with a pang, she would have refused to have it to herself, she would sooner have shivered to death than let him give up his cloak for her, but now she just pulled it around her more tightly and rested her head on his shoulder, trembling and muttering incoherently from time to time. They sat like that for quite a while. Then Peter asked timidly,

"Pippa ... what do you think they'll do to me?"

He felt her raise her head, felt her eyes on his face, but stared at the opposite wall, not wishing to see her face when she told him.

"I don't know," she said sorrowfully. "But probably ... the same as they did to me." He stiffened, but showed no other reaction. Suddenly Pippa took his face between her hands and made him look at her. "You'll have to be strong, Peter. You can't give them what they want. If you do, you'll be condemning the others to death. You've got to remember that, Peter. Always remember that every word you tell them could mean the death of a friend. Remember your love for them, Peter. Remember their love for you. Then you won't give in. Whatever they do to you, they can't touch you if you remember that."

"Did you remember that?" he asked her.

She nodded. Unkindly, scolding himself inwardly even as he said it, Peter remarked,

"It doesn't look like it helped much."

Pippa shrank back from him a little way, the cloak slipping off her shoulders. She clutched it to her and stared at him.

"It helped, Peter," she said sadly. "It helped knowing that the pain I suffered was not in vain. That with every measure of it that I was being dealt without breaking, I was protecting the people I cared about - protecting you. They tortured me, Peter. They tortured me, but I thought of you, I reminded myself that I could not give in, for your sake, and I didn't. I suffered gladly for you. I thought ... I thought you'd appreciate that."

"I do!" he cried, seeing the disappointment now creeping into her eyes, increasing her anguish. "I do, Pippa, honest I do, it's just ... you've looked after me. You've always looked after me, but now ... now you can't, can you? You can't, but I'm scared, more scared than I've ever been before in my life, and you might talk about suffering gladly, it might be all very well for you, but I'm not as strong as you are," he confessed desperately. "I'll never be able to stand it."

Pippa looked into his eyes, her own filling with tears, and sighed.

"Perhaps," she said, "I looked after you too much."

"Pippa ..."

He reached for her, but she pulled away. Using the stone wall for support, she pushed herself gingerly up onto her feet. Peter watched her. It was clear that she could barely stand, but she placed one foot cautiously in front of the other and made it to the door, to which she clung with both hands, breathing heavily. She rested her head against the bars and took long, deep breaths. Finally she said,

"If you feel you can't be strong, that you can't bear the torture - there's only one other way out."

"Another way? What way?" he asked hopefully.

She turned round, still holding onto the bars to keep on her feet. "You'll have to become a Death Eater."

Peter stared up at her blankly.

"What?"

Pippa said tiredly and without emotion, "Put up with as much of their torture as you can. Make a show of resisting them. Then ... appear to fall in with their wishes. They'll probably ask some test of you, to prove your loyalty. Whatever it is, you mustn't refuse. Go through with it until they let you leave this godforsaken island. Then go straight to D... Dumbledore," she finished haltingly and dejectedly, as though speaking the name reminded her of her lost hope.

He looked down again, trying to think it through, so far as his terrified mind would let him. It might work. Yes, if he could convince them that they had frightened him into joining them, before it actually got to that point ... it might work. But there was a stumbling block.

"What do you think they'd ask me to do?"

"Something bad," said Pippa. "Something you definitely won't want to do. And probably something that can be done here." She added more softly, "You can't refuse it. Whatever it is, Peter. If you want to make them believe you've turned, when really you haven't, the only way will be by doing whatever they ask you to."

"And if I don't?"

Apparently unable to stand any longer, Pippa slid back to the ground. "If you don't, they'll do to you what they did to me. And then ... they'll kill you."

She hugged the cloak closer around her again, and ignoring the fact that Peter was looking straight at her once more, closed her eyes and went back to shivering and murmuring quietly under her breath.

* * *

Beyond the Limit

Alice Longbottom sat in the Potters' living room, watching Lily over the top of a mug of tea. She said quietly,

"Are you feeling any better yet?"

Lily looked up from the magazine she had been flicking through with a start, as though she had forgotten she was not alone.

"Sorry?" she responded distractedly.

"I came here to look after you because you weren't feeling well, according to James," Alice reminded her. "And because Frank was only too glad to go off without me."

"He just wants to keep you safe," Lily said. "He doesn't want you in the line of fire, especially not now."

"I know," Alice said, smiling faintly. She set her mug down and sat forward a little in her seat. "But how are you feeling now?"

Lily shrugged her shoulders. "I feel fine. A bit peckish, but I get that a lot lately."

"Yes, I had noticed. You've been a bit prone to mood swings, too."

"Yes, I suppose I have." She looked back down at the magazine, but her old school friend was not about to give up pressing the point.

"Lily, darling," she said gently, "Isn't it time you told James?"

Lily looked up, the innocence in her face not quite convincing.

"Told him what?"

"You know very well what, you minx," said Alice, grinning now.

Suddenly putting the magazine aside, Lily smiled back. "I will tell him," she said. "Soon. But at the moment ... with Pippa vanishing ... it just wasn't the right time."

"I know," Alice agreed, turning serious. "But you don't want to wait too long, Lily. I didn't want to tell Frank too soon, and then I almost didn't get the chance. We can't afford to waste time these days, dear. We don't know how much of it we have."

* * *

Meanwhile, on Slytherin's Rock, Peter felt that his time was running out. He had spent a long time in the cell with Pippa, watching her as she sat huddled after that brief bout of calm and practicalness she had displayed, reverted almost to the state of pitiful despair he had found her in to begin with. And then they had come for him. Pippa had retreated panic-stricken into her corner when Paula, Lothian, and another Death Eater they referred to as Rabastan had entered the cell, turning her face to the wall as though she hoped they wouldn't notice she was there. Indeed, she might not have been for the amount of attention they gave her.

Peter had been led from the cell and back upstairs, though the entrance hall and up another flight of stairs to a small chamber devoid of furniture. There Lothian had left him with the other two, and the part he had dreaded had begun. At first, Peter had tried to remember Pippa's first piece of advice, telling himself that all this had a reason, that every blow and curse they struck him with was one that, by striking him, failed to strike the people he cared about. But it was not long before he could barely remember these thoughts he was trying to cling to, much less convince himself to believe they would help in any way.

He quickly decided that Pippa's second suggestion was by far the more feasible. When he had endured enough, he would feign submission, he would claim to have changed his allegiance, pass whatever test they set him, and then be allowed to go home. He knew, even as he did it, that he was giving up too soon, that he could have, and should have put up with more before beginning his pleading, before promising that he would do anything they wanted.

"Anything?" Paula queried, sounding doubtful. "Really? Then, if I told you to go home, but come back tomorrow and bring me one of your friends - what were there names again? Sirius? Remus? James? - you would do so? If I said I needed to set a trap for them ... you would help me?"

Peter stared at her in horror. "N-no, you ... you w-wouldn't!"

"Oh, you can bet your pathetic life on it that I would. The question is: would you? Would you give them to me to save your hide?"

"No!" cried Peter, apalled at the idea of such a cowardly suggestion, and all the more vehement because he was ashamed to realise that a small part of him seemed to be saying that he should claim the opposite, anything to save himself from his other sister's fate.

Paula nodded, a satisfied smile on her lips. "In that case," she said, "I rather think our business here is as yet unfinished, Rabastan. My brother has taken what he is prepared to take. Now let's see how he fares when the way of escape he seems to have thought he'd found is barred."

A long time after Peter had started screaming for mercy in earnest, the pain stopped. He lay on the ground, whimpering, reminding himself of Pippa in her cell downstairs, although he knew that she must have gone through far more than he had, or ever could. He swore that he would give them anything they wanted, if only they would stop hurting him. Paula studied him sceptically for a moment, then she said,

"Rabastan - I think it is time you went and told the Dark Lord that we are ready."

In the presence of Lord Voldemort himself, Peter felt too afraid to even draw a breath. The Dark Lord towered over him and studied him with his glowing eyes, which seemed to penetrate his very soul. After a couple of minutes, Voldemort declared himself content that Peter had indeed been turned.

"Give him back his wand," he said to Paula. "Rabastan will return any moment, he must be ready for his test."

Peter took his wand back gingerly. His hands shook so badly that he could barely manage to hold it. The thought of attempting to use it against the two people who were in the room with him never even entered his head, all thought of attempting escape were gone, now that he knew what would happen to him if such an attempt should fail.

The door opened and Rabastan returned. He was leading Pippa. She was shaking like a leaf, and in the brighter light of this chamber, which was illuminated by torches now that the sun was beginning to darken outside, she looked even worse than Peter had thought in the gloom of the cell below. The light seemed to hurt her after the darkness she had grown accustomed to, and at first she blinked so wildly that it was apparent she could hardly make out what she was seeing. Then she caught sight of Voldemort, and shrank back with a small cry, but Rabastan dragged her all the way into the room and closed the door, then stood there barring it. Pippa turned on the spot like a trapped animal.

"Why, Miss Pettigrew," said Voldemort in a coldly mocking voice. "You do not seem to value our hospitality very highly. It is as well then, I suppose, that you will not be required to honour us with your presence much longer."

At this point, Pippa stopped turning. She looked up at Voldemort, and at first Peter could see that her eyes were full of terror. But then, strangely enough, the fear seemed to fade, and her whole expression and demeanour became much calmer. She looked - there was no other way Peter could describe it to himself - utterly defeated, but no longer frightened of the man she was facing. He could not understand it at all. He did not realise yet, as Pippa had, what was about to happen.

"You don't need me any more?" she asked calmly.

"No."

"Then ... there will be no more torture."

"No."

Pippa closed her eyes for a few seconds, her features relaxing. Then she opened her eyes again and turned her head quickly to Peter. He could see that she was looking for confirmation from him that her plan had worked, that he was in control, fooling these people ... he dropped his gaze, but still noticed how she stiffened.

"Peter, it is time for your test," said Voldemort, and Peter looked up, startled.

"W-what test?" he asked.

Voldemort did not answer, but looked at Pippa. Pippa looked from Voldemort to Peter again, returning the uncomprehending look he gave her. She spoke again, with a tremor in her weak voice, but tenderly,

"They want you to kill me, Peter."

He gaped at her. How could she say this to him, so calmly? How could she stand facing him like that, full of acceptance for what was about to happen? He glanced at Voldemort, hoping against hope that he would not confirm her surmise, but Voldemort nodded.

"She is right," he said. "We expect you to kill her."

Peter looked at Pippa again. She looked frail, as though a breath of air would knock her down. And yet he knew that still, whatever had happened to her, however much more she had endured than he had found himself capable of, still she was stronger than he was in spirit, if not in body. She removed his cloak slowly and came a step nearer, holding it out to him.

"You'd better take this back," she said. "I won't be needing it any more."

His arms felt too numb to reach for the cloak. Her expression made him feel colder than he had ever felt before. Her eyes were faded, but still betrayed her emotions - love, pity, hopelessness and sorrow, all rolled into that unblinking stare. She dropped the cloak. Peter raised his wand arm slowly. He knew he must do it, and not appear to hesitate, or he would not escape the fate that frightened him so. But a knot formed in his throat and he was unable to utter a single word, much less a curse that would kill his sister.

Pippa recognised the appeal for help in his eyes. He was trapped, he couldn't go back - or rather, he daren't - and he couldn't go forward, couldn't do what was asked of him, what he had to do in order to save himself. And then, suddenly, it was all out of his hands, quite literally. With an effort that cost her the last of her bodily strength, Pippa sprang at him and wrestled his wand out of his hand. Peter was so startled that he automatically tried to throw her off, but she managed to hold him close enough just long enough to whisper in his ear,

"Remember to love, Peter. It's never too late."

Then she pulled away from him and brought his wand to bear on their sister.

"Reducto!"

Paula blocked the curse just in time. In the same instant, Voldemort drew his wand.

"Avada Kedavra!"

A bright green light flashed out from the tip of his wand, and in an instant Peter's fell to the floor with a clatter. Pippa crumpled on the spot, falling right on top of Peter's cloak. Peter suppressed the scream that threatened to burst out of him. They all looked down at the body for a moment, then Voldemort grabbed Peter's wrist roughly, tore open his shirt sleeve and pointed his wand at the bare skin beneath it.

"You have escaped your test for now, Peter Pettigrew, but you won't escape your vow. Swear to me that you will serve me, that you will obey my every word and strive to bring ruin on my enemies. Swear it now, or share your sister's fate!"

Peter dropped to his knees miserably. He glanced at Pippa and struggled to find his voice.

"I - I swear it," he said tremulously.

"Morsmordre."

With a scream of pain, Peter tried to pull his hand away from Voldemort, but the Dark Lord's grip was strong. From the tip of his wand, black lines spread across Peter's skin, forming a design that he had learned to recognise with dread. When the Dark Mark was complete, Voldemort removed his wand and released Peter's hand, which he cradled with his other arm quickly, waiting for the searing pain to subside. Voldemort swept out of the room without another word, followed by Rabastan. There was a pause, then Paula came a step closer. She nudged Pippa's body with the tip of her shoe.

"Get away from her!" Peter cried, jumping to his feet.

"Or what?" his sister sneered. "Going to try and hex me, like she did? You'd have as much success." She added thoughtfully, "You could never have killed her, could you?"

Peter shook his head slowly.

"I could. Willingly. I came close once. I had hoped that, in the end ... But there. It's done. She's gone. You can't hide behind her any more."

He took a step towards the body, one hand outstretched, but Paula held him back. "Not now. Within these walls, she is nothing more than an enemy to the master we serve - or rather, the corpse of an enemy. If you must mourn her, you can do so when her death becomes official, and all your 'friends' gather round to offer their condolences and sympathise over what a shock her death must be to you. Save your tears for then. It's getting late, and you must be home at the usual hour, or people will become suspicious. Lothian will take you back ashore, where Mulciber will be waiting for you. I will see you again tomorrow, when you will tell us all about the Order of the Phoenix. Now ..." She held out a hand and indicated the door, which had been left open. "After you, Peter. Who would have thought that you, of all people, would end up a Death Eater? Don't forget your cloak."

She chuckled all the way down the stairs behind him.

* * *

The Dark Mark

Three days later, Heather Woodcock was slowly making her way back to the Ravenclaw dormitory for the night, reading a letter as she went along, when someone called her name from behind. She stopped and waited for Barty Crouch to catch up with her.

"What's that you've got there? Is it from Fabian?" he teased.

She made an assenting sound and folded the letter, sticking it in her pocket. Then she continued briskly on her way. Barty glanced out of a window before hurrying to keep up with her.

"It's a rotten cold night," he remarked. "And it looks like it's going to snow some more."

"Do you think so?" Heather replied without interest.

"Haven't you looked at the sky today?"

Heather shook her head, and as he had planned, cast a disinterested glance past him. Her lack of interest was quickly replaced by shock as she gasped and pointed past him out the window.

"Oh my God, Barty - look!"

He turned his head and feigned shock and surprise himself. "Is that within the grounds or outside, do you think?"

"I don't know," Heather whispered. "But I'm going to find a teacher."

She ran off, back along the way she had come, and moments later was banging for all she was worth on the door of the deputy headmistress's office.

"Professor McGonagall!" she called through the door. "Professor ..."

The door opened with a jerk and McGonagall peered at the girl through her square spectacles in surprise.

"Miss Woodcock, what in Merlin's name ..."

"The Dark Mark," Heather panted. "It's the Dark Mark."

"What? Where?" the professor asked, startled.

"Out there!"

Heather waved her hand in the general direction of the main gates of the school. McGonagall drew her wand and guided Heather into her office.

"Stay here until I come back," she commanded, then she hurried off.

She encountered the caretaker on her way along the corridor, and said sharply,

"Mr. Filch, I have just been told that the Dark Mark has been sighted outside. Inform the headmaster, will you?"

"Yes, professor," Filch said, blinking.

McGonagall swept on, passing clusters of students on the way who seemed to have seen what Heather had seen through various windows. She told them all to stay safely within the castle walls before she stepped out through the main gates, then froze. It was one thing to hear about the Dark Mark having been spotted so close to home, but quite another to see it glowing high up in the sky, just over the statues of the winged boars, close to where Dumbledore's fireworks had sparkled a few nights earlier.

"It's true then?" a squeaky voice beside her said. "When I heard, I hoped it was some kind of a hoax, though in very bad taste."

"Come with me, Filius," she replied, and the two teachers set out across the grounds.

Hagrid was striding towards the same point as they were, carrying a very large crossbow, and they reached the gates at almost exactly the same time.

"Evenin', professors," Hagrid said gravely.

"Good evening, Ha..."

The rest of McGonagall's words died in her mouth and her hands flew up to cover it as she caught sight of what the Dark Mark was shining down on.

"Oh no," said Flitwick weakly.

Hagrid, frowning, looked round the corner so he could see what they were seeing, and almost dropped his crossbow.

"But ..." he began haltingly. "That ... is that ..."

"It's Philippa," McGonagall breathed by way of confirmation.

Then Dumbledore joined them. He looked grieved, but did not seem surprised when he opened the gates and passed out through them, crouching beside the body and touching a pale cheek. He withdrew his hand rather quickly.

"She has been dead for some time," he said, his voice betraying the tiniest hint of a tremor.

He straightened up again and came back to stand with the others.

"Filius," he said after a moment's silence, "When I came out, a number of students were displaying a certain amount of curiosity. Will you please go and make sure they stay inside the castle, as they were told to do?"

"Shall I send them to their dormitories, headmaster?"

"Yes ... no. I doubt they will get much sleep after having seen the Dark Mark, not while they don't know the reason, they will be up discussing rumours all night. Have them assemble in the Great Hall, if you will. I will be there shortly."

"Yes, headmaster," said Flitwick, and departed.

Dumbledore looked up at Hagrid, who's expression was painfully stunned.

"Hagrid," he said gently, "Will you be good enough to remove Philippa to your cabin for the time being? We cannot leave her here, and I think it unwise to carry her up to her own chambers while the students are still up and about."

"Yes, sir," Hagrid said with a heavy sniff.

He slung his crossbow over his back and stepped outside to lift the body off the ground, a tiny parcel in his huge arms. Dumbledore watched him go, then turned towards McGonagall. She lowered her hands at last.

"Albus, I ... I ..."

He patted her shoulder.

"When I last saw her, she ... she had been joining in a snowball fight with some of the students. She was so young, Albus ..."

He nodded. "Yes," he said quietly and sadly. "I also was fond of Philippa. We all were."

They looked back up at the sky, and the Dark Mark leered back at them.

* * *

"Lily!" James called cheerfully from the living room. "Come on, love, we're waiting for you!"

"I'm coming!" she called back.

She placed five glasses on a tray and pointed her wand at it. With a swish and a flick, she levitated it off the counter and let it float towards the door, just as James was about to enter. He caught the tray out of the air with both hands.

"Lily, what's keeping you?"

"I was just getting drinks," she said, putting her wand down and indicating the tray.

James looked at the five filled glasses that stood on it. He raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"Lily ... these glasses ... is that champagne?"

"Very good. Almost full marks. But not quite. Only four of those glasses contain champagne. The fifth contains orange juice."

"Yes, yes, I can see that, but isn't that a bit extravagant?"

"Are you saying we can't afford orange juice?"

"Lily ..." he said reproachfully.

She retorted, "Work it out, sweetheart. I have poured out champagne. For what reason does one usually pour out champagne?"

"To celebrate, I suppose."

"Quite. But one glass contains orange juice. What does that tell you?"

He shrugged. "That you think Sirius has had enough to drink already?"

Lily sighed, and coming closer she said, "Come on, James. You're not usually this slow on the uptake. Who else can you think of who's been refusing champagne, wine and other such delicious beverages lately?"

He frowned, then suddenly it dawned on him and his eyes widened.

"Alice? Because she's ... Lily, are you telling me ... you don't mean ... you're not ..."

"You bet I am!"

Lily put out a hand quickly to stop him dropping the entire tray, and leaned across it to kiss him. Just then Sirius appeared behind James.

"Hello, what's all this? Oh, drinks, great. But I really think you should bring the bottle, then you can get me nicely befuddled, and you might actually stand a chance at Exploding Snap."

James laughed and carried the tray into the living room, where Peter and Remus made room for it on the coffee table. Setting the drinks down, James at once took the opportunity to kiss Lily properly, and so extensively that Sirius said,

"Do you think you could save that for after we've gone? Or you might try telling us what sparked this sudden turtle dove demonstration?"

He looked to Peter and Remus for support. Peter just shrugged, but Remus looked from James and Lily to the tray of glasses, and a smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth.

"I suspect, Sirius, that congratulations are in order," he said, getting to his feet.

Lily nodded, and he kissed her on the cheek and patted James on the back. Sirius looked at the tray again too, and finally fell in. He beamed.

"That's brilliant! Come here, you!"

And he pulled Lily into a bear-like hug, so that she gasped before she got her breath back and began laughing, and then he embraced James too.

"Err ..." said Peter.

They all looked round at him, knowing he was too distracted at the moment by worry over his missing sister to take hints. Lily smiled.

"I'm pregnant, Peter."

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "Oh, well, I ... congratulations!"

Lily sat down beside him on the sofa and hugged him. Then Sirius handed round the glasses.

"Champagne, champagne, champagne, champagne, and orange juice for you, madam." He cleared his throat and raised his glass a little higher, "To Mr. and Mrs. Prongs, and to Miss or Master Prongs. May the baby inherit its mother's looks, and its father's good sense, mild temper and uprightfulness, if that's even a word. Bottoms!"

Laughing, they all took a sip. Then James, Remus and Sirius sat down, and an enjoyable game of Exploding Snap ensued that lasted for about half an hour. Then they were interrupted by an owl rapping on the window.

"I'll get it," said James.

* * *

Peter Pettigrew knew that, for as long as he lived, he would never forget the moment James Potter had announced his sister's death, reading it from the note brought by that owl. News of life, and news of death, had followed so quickly on top of each other that he had been shocked, despite the fact that he had already known his sister had been killed. And then a second shock had assailed him, one that he had failed to prepare for though he should have known the situation would come.

His friends had flocked round him in sympathy, each showing their sorrow on his behalf in their own ways. Lily had hugged him again, more tightly than before, and not letting go this time, her own voice choked as she told him how sorry she was, and that she knew how awful this must be for him. James had dropped the owl's note on the table and sat down on Peter's other side, placing a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. Remus had said quietly that he was very sorry, and sent Sirius, to whom displays of affection and sympathy did not come easily, but were a source of a certain awkwardness, to do something practical - in this case, to fetch a stiff drink that would do their friend better in his grief than champagne.

It had been horrible. They had all known that the hope they were holding out for Pippa's safe return had been a weak one, but they had held it nonetheless, and they had all believed that he had held it most desperately. He could not admit to them that the news of her death was no news at all. But he was able to give them the reaction they expected all the same, to release the tears that he had been holding back for the past couple of days.

And now, back in his own home, Peter had locked himself in the bathroom and was staring in the mirror at his puffy face and his red eyes, finding it hard to believe that any of this was real. It couldn't be real, it couldn't have happened. Polly a fanatical supporter of the Dark Lord, and a murderess too, most likely; Pippa killed in front of him; his friends being as kind as they could be, feeling for him, while Peter himself felt only revulsion.

*It's not too late,* a nervously hopeful voice whispered in his brain. *You can still turn back. Honour her wish. Tell the others what you've done. Say they forced you, admit that you were scared, they'd forgive you.*

But would they? Peter staggered away from the mirror and dropped shakily onto the edge of the bath. Would they forgive him? Could they? Could he forgive himself?

*I had to do it. They would have killed me.*

That was true enough. But it had hardly been the good, the noble, the Gryffindor thing to do, giving in to them. And in any case, even if he could make the others understand that he had been forced into promising to serve the Dark Lord, that it had been the only way to ensure his safe return ... how was he to explain the fact that he had gone back? That he had let his fear keep a hold on him after he was safely back at home, away from the Dark Lord's reach, to the extent that he had returned reluctantly, but without further threats or pressure, to Slytherin's Rock, that he had given the Death Eaters a list of names, the names of his friends and allies within the Order? That he had expressed fear of being discovered by the people who called him their friend, and that he had been relieved when they had told him not to worry, that they could easily cast suspicion in another quarter to cover him. He couldn't tell them that, could he?

Peter felt fresh tears welling up. With a trembling hand, he rolled up his sleeve, inwardly praying that all this was as unreal as it felt, just a bad dream that would be over by morning, a horrible memory that would make him shy away if anything similar ever occurred in real life, acting as a warning and a safeguard against losing his way ... but the hideous skull with the serpent protruding from his mouth was still there, an ugly reminder that he would never get rid of, a reminder of Pippa's courage and of her death, a reminder of his own cowardice and betrayal.

*There is no going back now,* he told himself. *They're the only people I care about. I can't admit to them what I've done, they'll hate me for it, they'll never trust me again.*

He told himself that he was too ashamed of what he had done to confess it to them. And he suppressed that voice in his head that told him this was just another display of his cowardice.